This will be a short entry, as my day planner informs me that I am booked solid with dinner parties. Even during breakfast and lunch…I’ll be attending dinner parties. I’m a liberal; it’s what I do. Apparently.

If you think I’m making this up, you may be the sort of asshole liberal who thinks stories about certain kinds of people buying steaks with EBT cards and pompous lefties being gutted by witty wingnuts are mostly bullshit. If you are, indeed, that sort of person, I invite you share your favorite Rude Liberal Unicorn story. Or any familiar story that circulates among the wingnutosphere. I will choose the best stories and we will vote for a winner later.

Comments (94)

Considering that an EBT card looks pretty much just like a debit/credit card, you have to get pretty damn close to someone to tell that they’re using one. If any of the “dude buying steak and lobster with food stamps*” stories are actually true, then that means that the tellers are closely watching what random strangers are doing at the grocery store in a way that’s really kind of creepy. Not to mention that it’s none of their damned business if someone is using an EBT card, or what they’re using it on.

*Wingnuts almost always still say “food stamps”, even though the SNAP system hasn’t used stamps for quite some time. Is that just reflexive phraseology, or more evidence that they’re just pulling these anecdotes out of their asses?

To be more fair than they deserve: the terminology, once you’re talking about usage on the ground, becomes fractured. Technically, you can’t really say people in CA are on SNAP, because the state implementation is called CalFresh; the naming is different in other states. And EBT is too general a term.

Solutionism aside, I’ve been working on an app to help such users locate and share qualitative information about food stores that take CalFresh payments in Alameda County, where enrollment is way up over the last few years. The Federal SNAP web site will tell you locations of stores that take the EBT payment, but nothing about whether they stock fresh, healthy food at a fair price or not (http://www.slideshare.net/DanielDrewTurner/snapmapper-a-yelp-for-food-stamp-users).

“the tellers are closely watching what random strangers are doing at the grocery store in a way that’s really kind of creepy. Not to mention that it’s none of their damned business if someone is using an EBT card, or what they’re using it on.”

Actually it is, because some things are not allowed and others are. The tellers have to know.

Well, the way I’ve noticed when waiting behind people at the convenience store are using EBT is when the cashier actively tells them “you’re not allowed to buy this with your card, you have to put it back.” Of course that runs contrary to the whole conservative message, but it’s not that hard to notice when things like that happen, because they’re getting in the way of my god-given right to buy a Coke Zero and Snickers as fast as possible.

You do know that a Snickers followed by a *warm* Coke (diet, regular, Mexican, whatever) generated the longest most luscious burps it is possible to make. Around our house this combination is known as “The Regualdo.”

The poor lady ahead of me two weeks ago was having a bad day: her SNAP card would cover a supermarket-roasted chicken if it was cold, but not if was hot. The last cold chicken in the case was still stickered as if it were hot, and it took ten minutes, a sticker gun, and a manager override before she could finish her transaction.

[quote]*Wingnuts almost always still say “food stamps”, even though the SNAP system hasn’t used stamps for quite some time. Is that just reflexive phraseology, or more evidence that they’re just pulling these anecdotes out of their asses?[/quote]

Eh, I wouldn’t get too worked up about this one. Nearly every liberal I know calls them food stamps, whether they themselves have been on it in the past or not.

When I was a student at athletic powerhouse University of Maryland, a small cadre of communist students took over the student council and mandated that only granola, yogurt, and wheatgrass juice could be sold at the concession stands for sporting events. Also we made it illegal to have scoreboards, since that encouraged anti-collectivist tendencies. We really thought we’d put one over on the conservatives! Then a football player punched me in the face.

I, as a long time member of the Carpenters Union, Central District Council, Local 2298, am a thug. I am 5′-8″ tall and my fightin’ weight is 150-155. Conservatives quake at the sight of me. I once dated a lady who was a cashier at Schnucks and was a UFCW member. She was 5′-1″ and weighed 105.

She is a thug too. You should see her bust up a scab trying to cross her picket line. My heart flutters just thinking about it.

I’m a 5’9″, 135-lb ex-Teamster (Local 743) and I formally challenge you to a Thuggery Contest. My second shall by my octogenarian grandmother (Cleveland Teacher’s Union Local 279-R, I think) who is blind in one eye.

I am in a union bargaining unit too, but only because I can’t find any employer in my greater metropolitan area that is *not* unionized by these monopolizing greedheads. Anyway, my supervisor has repeatedly told me that if I weren’t in a union, I would be making a LOT more money than I am now, but these anti-meritocratic levellers are preventing the company from paying me more. Also, my supervisor has explained to me that the union is forcing the company out of business because it’s driving compensation costs way past what they can afford.

Not to mention you’re being forced to pay union dues. And what do you get from that? Nothing! They’re just fattening the union boss wallets and lobbying for higher taxes on good, hard-working ‘mercans.

My grandmother was a thug — a very early member of the Retail Clerks Union. When she wasn’t beating up Pinkertons or dispensing her folksy socialist propaganda, she used to laugh about how people thought the unions wanted “better wages” or “safe working conditions.” Really, all they wanted to do was destroy American capitalism and piss off conservatives!

I am a Hollywood actor. And a conservative. You might not recognize me from many films, television shows, or commercials because I haven’t had an acting job in years. The reason is obviously because liberal Hollyweird is intimidated by my conservatism. Now people might say that I cannot get a part because I am one of 1,000 people auditioning, or because I forgot my lines at a reading, or because I can’t act, or because I flashed the dame in the costume department. But the real reason that Hollywood hates me is because I have a Romney/Ryan bumper sticker on my pickup truck. I am pretty sure that the liberal Hollywood studio execs are outside in the parking lot, making note of all the automobiles with conservative bumper stickers.

You forgot Adam Corolla, but I here what your saying, bro. I’m a musician and have been turned down from many gigs because of my guitar which has an image of Jesus riding an Eagle, with the Stars N’ Bars in one hand and an M-16 in the other and the words “Tread on THIS!” I tried out for one of those “Indie” bands a couple weeks ago. Wasn’t really my bag, but the chick singer was totally do-able so I gave it a shot. They told me that I wasn’t the “right fit” but irregardless, I think it was because they couldn’t handle somebody who wasn’t gonna join there little liberal hive. Also, I was the only one sporting leather pants so I think my manhood is what really scared them off. As I peeled out in the parking lot in my F-150, I screamed “Who’s John Galt?” Hipster bitches didn’t even get the reference.

So i was at a Washington DC dinner party and I met this quarter black, quarter latina, quarter native, quarter german woman who was carrying a couple of Ayn Rand tomes and a prize for being the top sales-person at the local Cadillac dealership. I asked who mugged her, because clearly, like me, she used to be a liberal. She’s like “Not a pale stud like yourself. Let’s meander over to that ambry and engage in coitus”. In thundering tones, I ejaculated “Madame, I am not a beast to slake your wild lusts. Get thee to a nunnery.” and she’s like “I am neither a borrower not a lender bee, but I like the cut of your gibberish. Are you sure you don’t desire coitus? I have been told I look like a frumpy what’s her name from that one show.” In riposte I phonated, “I don’t like that show, poor people can make money on it, and like you, it doesn’t follow church teachings.” I then made my way to the egress as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

I was riding in my pickup with a Bush/Cheney bumper sticker when a liberal in a Prius pulled beside me and started to flip the bird and yell vile curses at me. This went on for a few miles, so I pulled over and got out, and he did too; but then I showed my 9mm Glock and he became a quivering mass of jelly and ran away.

(This entry was inspired by the awesome commentariat at alicublog and here at LGM. Thanks for the idea, hippy scum!)

As usual, you liberals have it all wrong again. The awesomemost comment was, objectively speaking, this:

In response to Nordlinger’s:

My girlfriend works at a retail clothing store in Chicago. She has recently had some issues with her manager…Today, she was told by the manager, “Because you do such a good job selling, the other employees are intimidated. They are intimidated by your success. We want to move you to a fitting room…

DocAmazing said:

My girlfriend,who lives in Canada, works at a retail clothing store in Chicago.

A few years ago, I was a lazy blah moocher with 9 million welfare babies, each with a different father. But one day, while riding Metro with my 9 million welfare babies (hereinafter referred to as The 9) an amazing thing happened.

And did I mention I was on my way to Whole Foods to buy deluxe organic steaks for me and The 9 with my state assisted Food Stamps, also I intended to purchase some “Drank”? Well I was.

Anyway, there I was, a lazy blah unemployed moocher, talking to my “crew” on my Obamaphone about how much we enjoyed voting ten times during the last election when a stunning man of whiteness got on the train with some friends.

I was so taken with his manly mien that I accidentally swallowed one of The 9. This God of a human being had clearly been to some sort of rally for he and his companions carried signs.

I can’t tell you what the signs said because I was working on my first batch of what became The 9 when I should have been learning to read. However, a disturbance soon erupted at the back of the train. Some of The 9 were mocking the Olympian Stud and his friends.

Before I could rebuke them, the Adonis turned, looked at them, and shat himself. The smell was like a bolt from mighty Zeus. I lost consciousness and The 9 fled screaming I know not where.

When I awoke I was alone. I threw away my Obamaphone and the jewelery I purchased with the 10,000 in welfare I received each week. I donated my Cadillac to The Heritage Foundation and took up work scrubbing toilets of the Great and the Good for free.

Sometimes, as I wait for a bus to take me to my 10th job, I experience the privilege of telling a nice young white lady how glad I am that her people have come to fix our neighborhood which we have made squalid and unfit for habitation. And I feel I am a much better person for it, dear reader. Really, I do.

Too easy to make fun of other people’s fantasies. We should have a thread where we make fun of our own fantasies. Like that time I met Obama and told him how disappointed I was after having phonebanked for him.

Or (this one is actually true) I have a friend who interviewed Otto Reich and managed to annoy him enough that he followed her down the street and yelled at her.

As one could expect this scenario plays out across America every single day. Evil professors spilling their liberal bile on the innocent has become so common place that many Christians find themselves in tears by the end of the day. We are fortunate to have internet sites to reduce critical thinking, skepticism and logic, (the pornographic trinity of consciousness,) to protect our youth from the well-known danger of rationality.

My glibertarian uncle has not only refused to admit that standard Keynesian macro did well predicting recent events, but also that economics isn’t a real science because we can’t run parallel double blind experiments with it to analyze the outcome. I get the feeling this is a standard line amongst people in his political circle.

When I countered that this definition means he also doesn’t accept palentology, geology and astrophyics as sciences he responded with “But palentologists aren’t telling me how to live.” That is to say “they aren’t saying my freinds and I should drive our gas guzzling sports cars.”

This is wrong. Paleontologists and Geologists are absolutely telling him how to live. Their work is vital to building roads, bridges, and exploring for oil. You should get him the book “The Map That Changed the World” and also Neil Shubin’s “Your Inner Fish.” And then you should kick him in the balls.

My initial (swallowed because it was a family gathering reply) was that geologists and palentologists already told him how to live by undermining the bibilical age of the Earth and undermining idea that he was created to mirror God.

But as he’s a glbertarian rather than a social conservative these wouldn’t bother him.

This in so incredible I hardly believe it myself. The store customer in from of me bought two bottles of Wild Turkey a carton of cigarettes, a half-dozen candy bars, a bong, some rolling papers and a gallon of ice cream. To my amazement the customer whipped out an EBT card and the cashier said nothing. Then the customer had to reach in his pocket for a fifty dollar bill to make-up for what the card didn’t cover.

I once was your typical sandal-wearing, tofu-eating, latte-sipping liberal college professor. My course in America-Hating (freshman and advanced) warped many an impressionable young mind.

Then I met David Horowitz …

From the moment I saw his cute little Col. Sanders goatee waggling over the salad bar, I was lost. Here, I sighed, was a real fighter for individual freedom, as he stuffed handfuls of cracker packets into his pockets.

He noticed my all-too-evident interest, responding with a friendly “What the fuck are you looking at, asshole!?!” What a Buckleyesque wit! Then he pushed my face into the Bleu Cheese dressing.

And such a forceful presence, too! Since my liberalism was of course just a cover for my deep yearning for authoritarian rule, his come-on was completely irresistible.

What can I tell you about those sun-dappled, lazy afternoons we spent together? Playing “Pin the Treason on the Professor” … the umpteen times we held hands and watched The Fountainhead (David would always tear up a little during Roark’s courtroom speech) … the fun we’d have, blacking out random words and phrases, sometimes whole passages, from A People’s History and Das Kapital while giggling like schoolchildren … the double dates with Ann Coulter and Herman Cain …

I’m a leading cardeo-thorasic surgeon at a major regional medical center. Today I called in to work early, parked my Harley and on the way in found about thirty federal officials locking the doors, and saying they were taking over my surgery in the name of Obamacare.

I told them in my gravel-edge voice they’d have to take job from my cold dead hands, and they started staring at the ground and one started to cry. They could tell from the way I used my walk I was conservative, no time to talk. Another tried to argue that Obamacare had passed Congress, and was the social contract of the land by presidential order. I straddled up, bit down on a Marlboro, struck a match on the federally-funded no-smoking sign, looked him right in the eye and loaded up the silver bullet.

I’ve had a nagging feeling of familiarity all day, while reading these attempts–and for the most part they are only attempts–at imitating the inimitable. And then I felt the need to refresh myself at the source, the very spring, of this sort of thing: Robin of Berkeley. I found this gem and I bring it to you here, as a gesture of admiration and of warning because, lets face it folks, the abyss also gazes back:

All around us, there are acts of God and there are acts of evil. If you’ve felt the awe of watching a baby born, you know the majesty that is God. If you’ve been a victim of a violent crime, you recognize that evil exists, and that it too is shocking, but in the most disturbing of ways.

This is a circuitous way of moving on to my main topic, of a news event that I found utterly shocking. It was the announcement of the death of Andrew Breitbart, at age 43. Andrew Breitbart, for God’s sake! Unlike Rush or Hannity, Breitbart didn’t just report on and analyze the news. He made it. He was one of the main people to bring down Acorn, and he had a huge hand in exposing “Farmgate.”

Breitbart apparently had the goods on Obama: Breitbart had announced that he possessed secret tapes about Obama and his connection to revolutionaries. Then Breitbart suddenly died. This is the stuff of suspense thrillers, if it weren’t so horribly real.

Was Breitbart’s death an Act of God? Or was it an act from the polar opposite realm?

I don’t know. I have no inside information. However, I no longer believe everything that authorities tell me.

I wonder what the sound will be like when this world system ends: will it be noisy, as in mass hysteria and chaos; or it will be like the eery and unsettling silence that I experienced the other night? So many people feel unsettled these days. I hear it from people all the time — something just doesn’t feel right, though they don’t know what it is; and then there are others with a pasted smile on their faces or a blank look, who would never admit it, but somewhere inside, in a place they only travel in their dreams, they know it too.

And, perhaps I’ve heard too many conspiracy theories, but I have to wonder if the whole thing is rigged, BART and everything else; if this subway strike, rather than being about money and pensions and other nickle-and-dime issues, is really about social control. Are we in the Bay Area, home to so many social experiments, being manipulated, like puppets on a string, to see just how much pummeling we can take? Are the endless traffic jams and the daily indignities of life in a major metropolis a daily way to remind us how insignificant we are and how significant they are?

And I think of the national push for public transportation; how people are cajoled to get out of their cars and hop on trains and buses. And yet ironically, tragically, those same obedient people who try to save the environment by enduring BART and our bus systems (with their unpredictable eruptions of the deranged; or the more routine leering and touching by the indecent) are being punished by not being able to get where they need to go.

Underneath the real paranoia, which is sad (especially in a former self proclaimed psychiatrist) lies some interestingly American fears of urbanism, the other, “being touched,” being forced to see and interact with other people. Tragically our good intentions (so very Althouse! Our “idealism”) leads us to fall prey to demagogues and technocratic sophists who lead us down the slippery slope to public transportation which EVIL because PUBLIC and also prevents us from “get[ting] where [we] need to go.” Its irony all the way down to hell.

It was September 13, 2001. After 24 straight hours watching Fox I had to, like any real American, sign up to help kill Obama bin Hussain (did I spell that right?). I figgered the army was going to be the first ones at his doorstep so I drove my camo Ford F-250 dualie straight down to the recruiting center. I didn’t know exactly where it was, somewhere near the college, and right when I see the “Be All That You Can Be” poster in the window next to Blockbuster, whaddya know, some professor-type backs into me with his Honda!

Of course I got out and the guy was yelling at me for not watching where I was going or something so I start to tell him off and he walks away and starts telling some kid from the Blockbuster to call the cops. Asshole wasn’t going to ignore me so I grabbed his corduroy jacket and he started to struggle with me so naturally I messed up his face a little.

Then, when the cop showed, it was me who got the ticket for failure to yield or some shit and one for battery.
To top it off when I finally got into the Army place it turns out I couldn’t join because of prior record or some shit. Eight years of the pansy-ass Bill Clinton made us weak.

Two years later, after a real man was calling the shots in Washington, they let me in. . .

[…] In my last entry, when I asked for your funny or familiar stories from the wingnutosphere, what I had in mind was old chestnuts like the time a bunch of Mexicans stole Victor David Hansen’s antique buttplug collection. Or perhaps a short story from Foodstamp Follies. (Spoiler Alert: Each chapter ends with FREE STEAK.) Instead, you guys made up your own stories, which was–as I said–way cooler and funnier than my original contest idea. […]

[…] maybe open mic poetry night at the local lesbian bar. But, no. They keep going to these fucking dinner parties and ending up with arugula and Dijon all over their smug faces! When will the madness […]